


By the Sword

by Lizardbeth



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean
Genre: Action/Adventure, Between Seasons/Series, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Revenge, Swordplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-13
Updated: 2006-12-13
Packaged: 2017-10-11 17:49:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/115068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lizardbeth/pseuds/Lizardbeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ambushed and robbed in Port Royal, Will wants revenge and Elizabeth refuses to be left behind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	By the Sword

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2006 _PotC_ secret santa exchange.
> 
> Takes place before _Dead Man's Chest_.

  
The wind was fierce, whipping the banners and making the wooden signs creak all along the deserted High Street. It felt oddly hot and dry, like the wind off a desert, and the few clouds in the night sky passed over quickly.

Will staggered on torn stockings up the slope, toward the governor's house, battling the wind every step of the way, as it caught in his sleeves and the hem of his shirt. With his left hand he held his ribs on the right side, pain shooting through him with every step and every hard fought breath. There was another stabbing pain in the side of his head, and throbbing aches everywhere.

His eyes didn't seem to want to focus, although it was all right, because his feet knew the way.

He paused, surprised by the suddenly looming wall. He had to bend and vomit up the pint of watered rum he'd had in the tavern all over the decorative plants of the border. Breathing heavily, he woozily stood up and made his way through the gate and to the front steps.

He fell against the door and rested there, before dimly recalling he had to knock. Putting a hand on the knocker, he squinted at it, wondering why his fingers were wet. He lifted the knocker and let it fall, a nicely hollow thump echoing off the door. Once more, to make sure someone heard, and he put his face against the door, hoping someone came soon.

If he could just see Elizabeth, he'd feel better. She could help.

The door opened and he stumbled forward, as it came out from under him.

"I am sorry, Governor Swann is not receiving --" the deep tones of George, the Governor's doorman and night guard started politely, then cut off. "Mister Turner?" he asked in disbelief.

There weren't many men in Port Royal that Will had to tilt his head back to meet their eyes, but George was one of them. "Good evening, George. I'm very sorry to disturb the house -- " he started with automatic politeness and his knees sagged.

George's hands darted out to catch Will and help him inside. "What on Earth happened, Mister Turner?" George asked, with concern.

Will heard the words, but understanding slipped past. He always liked how George spoke, his English was precise, but with a musical undertone of whatever language he'd spoken as a babe. It reminded Will of the woman who had seen to the domestic duties in Master Brown's house when he'd first come there. She had been very kind to the orphaned apprentice.

"Were you in a fight, sir?" George persisted.

"Five," Will answered vaguely, leaning against George's strong arm and the knobby texture of his coat, closing his eyes. "No fight. Cheaters," he muttered.

"George! What is it? What is that drunkard beggar doing in my house?" Governor Swann's outraged voice rang through the foyer.

Will raised his head to see the governor in his dressing gown, without his wig. It made him look very ordinary.

Swann suddenly stopped and his eyes opened too wide. "William?" he asked in shock. "Mister Turner? Is it you?"

"He appears to have been set upon by ruffians, sir," George explained. "He is hurt, I know not how badly."

"Come, come, take him into the sitting room," Swann turned and led the way to the room. George took most of Will's weight and they followed. "On the couch," he pointed to it, and then reconsidered, lowering his arm. "Perhaps a towel or a sheet," he muttered, "you are bleeding, Mister Turner." Then he shook his head once impatient with himself. "On the couch, George."

"Yes, sir," George helped Will onto the couch. He tried to sit down but the change in position spiked the pain in his chest and he held his breath, eyes watering, hand holding his ribs until it passed.

When he opened his eyes again, George was gone, and the governor was watching him as one might watch a feral cat that had unexpectedly appeared in his study.

"Ruffians, Mister Turner?"

Will tried to pull his head together and answer coherently, even if he could scarcely get his voice to work. "There was a man in the tavern, insulting Elizabeth." The words had been nothing unusual, not these days, but the man had continued to speak them even after he was warned that Elizabeth's fiancé was there. "So I called him out. But he had ... many friends, sir."

"I see," Swann said. "I am grateful that you came to Elizabeth's defense."

"Of course, sir." He didn't say that if the governor had let them marry already, this wouldn't be happening. But the governor was determined that Elizabeth's choice not look like desperation, or like Norrington had cast her off as damaged goods, and Will had to concur with that. So they had to wait one year, and meanwhile the local louts slandered Elizabeth for being pirate takings.

It was not the first time Will had fought over it. But it was the first time that he hadn't won.

The fire warmed his face and skin, especially where his shirt had gotten wet with blood and alley muck. He leaned back and closed his eyes again.

There was the sound of running feet in the hall outside and Elizabeth was there. "Will! Oh dear God, what happened to you?" He looked at her, as she rushed over and knelt on the floor beside him. She had been getting ready for bed, and her hair was loose and shining in the fire light. A dressing gown was over her bed gown, belted in haste, and did nothing to hide the swelling shape of her breasts beneath it.

"You're hurt!" Her fingers touched the side of his head very gently and he couldn't help a wince. "You're bleeding."

"I feel better with you here," he murmured, watching her beautiful face above his.

She smiled softly and caressed his cheek. "You'll be all right," she said and shook her head at him a little. "What happened to my sword master?" she teased, not slowing her touch.

"There were five of them. Ambushed me in the alley." He closed his eyes, feeling hot with shame. "Didn't even get my sword clear."

"It's all right," she soothed. "Get some rest, Will."

He relaxed into her ministrations, and the lingering whiff of her perfume coaxed him into sleep.

===========

Elizabeth waited in the hallway as Doctor Martindale examined Will in the spare room. George had carried him there, on his return from notifying the fort of the attack and the house's need for the doctor.

Her father was waiting as well, and he caught her glance. "I'm sure William will be all right, Elizabeth. He did not look badly hurt."

"He'll be fine," she answered staunchly and turned back to the closed door, trying to ignore the tightness in her chest and stomach. He had to be fine.

She shut her eyes, trying to push away the memory of blood on his face and hands, and how unnaturally white his face had looked. He had passed out, and for an instant, she had feared he was dead. Her hands clutched her skirts at her sides, before she made herself release them and smooth out the wrinkles. Will was going to be fine.

The door opened and Doctor Martindale came out. He was James' age, she thought, but wasn't sure. His hair had no grey in it, but his face was more weathered than her father's, due to hard campaigning. His eyes were kind. "Governor," he said with a polite nod and turned most of his attention to her. "Miss Swann. Fortunately your fiancé is young and healthy and none of his injuries are terribly severe. His head wound bled a great deal, but looked much worse than it was. The worst is a broken rib, but there is no cure for that, but binding and time. He will heal quickly."

She had the distinct impression that he was hiding something in his reassurance. She bit her lip once and prompted, "However?"

"There is no need to concern yourself --" he started.

Her eyes narrowed. "Doctor Martindale, Will is my fiancé. If you are hiding some danger to him out of concern for **me** , do not. I want to know."

The doctor exchanged a look with her father, and must have received a nod, because he said, "I am concerned -- somewhat -- by the blow to his head. The brain is a tricky and mysterious thing, Miss Swann. I have seen men struck by blows that would fell an ox walk away and other men lightly tapped who fell into a sleep from which they never woke. Sometimes," he paused and added reluctantly, "their wits are permanently addled. We will not know how the blow affected Mister Turner until he wakes."

She felt a sudden chill and drew her dressing gown more tightly around herself. "But -- but he spoke," she objected, her voice suddenly seeming to come from a far distance. "He spoke to me. He recognized me."

"And that is a very good sign," Doctor Martindale reassured her. "He sleeps now, and I think that is the best. For you as well, Miss."

He meant the words kindly, she knew, but she shook her head. "Might I sit with him? Just for a little while?" she asked her father.

"I suppose Mary's in there still?" he asked, and the doctor nodded. Her father said, "For a few minutes."

Permission secured, Elizabeth went in. There was a fire in the fireplace, and Mary was just turning down the oil lamp that sat by the bed. "Good evening, Miss," the housekeeper greeted her in a murmur.

But Elizabeth had no eyes for her and no strength to speak pleasantries when she caught sight of Will on the bed. He was propped half sitting on several pillows, bed sheets drawn only halfway up his chest. The tattered, bloodstained remains of his shirt were gone, giving her a view of the bandages that circled his lower torso. There was another bandage on one arm, and a third on the side of his head, with a stark white cloth across his forehead holding it in place.

"Oh Miss, this isn't --" Mary began and took a hold of the edge of the sheet to draw it up.

Elizabeth lifted her gaze to glare at her. "Don't be ridiculous. We're to be married in five months. Besides, it isn't as if I've never seen Will without a shirt before."

She tried not to blush. She had seen him exactly once, last year when she'd watched him unawares cleaning up after his smithy work. He'd left the door open, and she'd wandered in to chat with him as she often did. He'd had his shirt off and was washing from a basin, with his back to her. Of course, the instant he'd realized her presence, he'd thrown on his shirt and coat, but the image of his muscles and damp skin had burned itself into her eyes that day.

"You have? When?" Mary asked.

"On the ship," Elizabeth answered, lowering her gaze to Will. One of few advantages to having been abducted by pirates was that she could claim any impropriety and be believed. Everyone already thought the worst anyway. She waved a hand. "It's not important. I only want to sit next to him a little while."

Mary's voice softened in sympathy. "Of course, Miss." She withdrew to the next room. Elizabeth wished that she had closed the door, but being alone in the room was already more than he father would approve. What her father didn't know, he couldn't disapprove of, either. Her father didn't know of stolen time in the corner of the smithy either.

She took one of Will's hands in hers, remembering how this hand had felt sliding into her bodice. She closed her eyes and smiled, cradling the palm against her cheek and kissing his fingers. He had rough hands, calloused and scarred, but she liked them anyway. They were the hands of a craftsman, capable of both strength and delicacy. These fingers had found their way under her skirts to touch her in a very improper manner. Twice. Such feelings had to be sinful, but she couldn't wait for him to do it again.

Once he was well, she amended in her thoughts. They weren't going to be doing much of anything improper while he was hurt.

Seeing him like this reminded her of the boy fished out of the water. She gingerly touched the top of his chest, where the coin had been so long ago. His skin was warm and soft under her fingers, and she let her hand linger.

Who would have guessed that instead of the ship's captain of that voyage she would wed the pirate boy?

Her fingers slid up his neck and traced his jaw. And who would have guessed that her pirate boy would turn out so handsome and dashing, and could make her heart beat too fast whenever she caught sight of him?

He stirred, moving his head under her touch restlessly and trying to draw a deep breath. Even in sleep, the pain reached him, and he let out a soft gasp and whimper.

"Shhh," she whispered, caressing his cheek softly. "It's okay, Will. I'm here. You're going to be all right."

He quieted, and she continued to soothe him until long after she was sure he was deeply asleep again, unable to pull herself away.

"I wish I could have come to your rescue this time, love. You need protecting too," she whispered, smiling down at him. "What would I do without my pirate blacksmith?"

She seized his hand in both of hers, suddenly stricken by the thought. He had been a constant in her life ever since that fateful voyage, the star that set her course. Even before she'd realized how much he meant to her, he had been there, silently twining a hold on her heart through his friendship and his easy acceptance of her sometimes unladylike ways.

A soft sigh broke into her reverie, and she turned her head to find her father behind her. He gave her an encouraging smile and set his hands on her shoulders lightly. "Young William will be hale again soon, Elizabeth."

"I know," she turned back to watch Will sleep. "I don't like it that he was hurt because of me. He might have died, defending my honor." She shook her head once and bit her lip to push back the hot sting of tears in her eyes. "Such a price to pay for something that everyone believes so **cheap**."

"He does not believe so, and nor do I." He gave her a kiss on the top of her head, just as he had when she'd been small. "Any honorable man will fight for his bride's honor, else he is no man at all. William may not be the husband I would have chosen for you, I admit, but I respect that he is honorable."

She smiled a little, "Even though he stole the _Interceptor_?"

"Were I twenty years younger and of stouter spirit, **I** would have stolen the _Interceptor_ to come to your rescue," he declared, making her smile widen as she tried to imagine her father stealing a ship of the line. He was a good administrator and a good King's man, but not particularly brave. His grip tightened briefly on her shoulders. "Come, Elizabeth. To bed with you. You can check on Mister Turner in the morning."

She nodded and leaned forward to kiss Will on the forehead, wishing she were of stout enough spirit to kiss his lips with her father there. But instead she withdrew and looked back only once.

============

Will tried to avoid waking up as long as he could, aware of a throbbing ache in his head and a sharper pain when he breathed. Yet, despite his misery, he felt otherwise comfortable, with a soft bed and a pillow underneath him.

He opened his eyes and had to shut them again as the brightness streaming in through the window stabbed through his head like a hot poker from the forge. He flung up his hand to cover his eyes as nausea rolled through him.

"Will!" Elizabeth's familiar voice told him where he was, and sparked vague memories of coming in the house. "You're awake! What is it? The light?"

"Hurts my head," he whispered, feeling ashamed of his weakness, but he didn't feel well enough to pretend otherwise.

He heard the soft sound of her skirts on the floor as she moved away and drew the curtains closed, then she came back. "There. Try again."

Opening his eyes was less excruciating this time. She was wearing a light blue and white lace gown, and one coil of hair hung down to her neck, and he could barely keep his gaze from straying downward from it. He watched as she settled herself on a straight backed chair next to the bed and she smiled at him. "Better?"

"Much. Thank you."

"Do you know who you are?" she asked.

He frowned at the odd question. "Yes, of course. William Turner of Port Royal, your fiancé. Why do you ask, Elizabeth?"

She smiled in relief. "Doctor Martindale thought the blow to your head might have addled your wits. I'm glad it did not. Here, he left laudanum for you." She held out a small cup and he took it from her, downing the sweetened contents in two swallows.

"There is news," she went on. "Soldiers from the fort found your coat and shoes at the pawn brokers this morning. So at least you'll have them back. Your coin was probably spent at some tavern."

He didn't really care about his clothes or even his purse. "They took my sword," he said. "But they could never sell it here, not with my mark on it. They'll take it to Tortuga. Or to the Spanish maybe."

Her hand covered his. "Father ordered the port closed, to search for the men who hurt you. They won't be able to escape."

He felt suddenly light-headed and sleepy but he wanted her to understand. He didn't care about the men who'd attacked him. No, that wasn't true, he did care, but he cared about something else more. "I made that sword. For me. It's perfect," he murmured, eyelids trying to close, even though he wanted to keep looking at her. "Balanced, grip, length. I want it back."

"We'll get it back," she promised softly, and leaned forward. "Rest, now, Will. Don't worry about any of that right now. "

He thought he shouldn't sleep, but he felt warm and comfortable, and it was just easier to slip away, with the feel of her lips on his.

=============

Over the next three days, Elizabeth stayed as near to Will as she could, keeping him amused while the doctor confined him to the bed. She read to him from her books, and they played draughts and cribbage. He usually played well, always two steps ahead of her, and he had stopped letting her win years ago. So whenever she started winning points as if they were falling from the sky, she knew it was time for him to get some rest, despite his protests.

In all that time, there was no news on the attackers. She pressed her father, who pressed the Navy. In James' absence though, the Navy was no longer in capable or competent hands, and it was no surprise when they turned up nothing. She found it frustrating, but since Will was recovering and he didn't mention it again, it seemed to diminish in importance.

When she returned from luncheon with her father, she knocked once on the door and opened it.

Will was standing in the middle of the floor, trousers on but unbuttoned and his shirt cuffs hanging loose over his hands. His gaze was startled. "Elizabeth!"

Her cheeks felt hot and her stomach fluttered, as her eyes could not lift themselves from the sight of his bare skin of his lower stomach. Strange, how she could spend three days looking at his bare chest, and not feel as if she were unable to breathe as she did now at the sight of a hands-span of skin. Suddenly she understood how nakedness could lead to lustful thoughts, as the reverends had always warned.

She licked her dry lips and approached him, dragging her gaze up to the smooth tanned skin of his chest and throat and finally to his face. He was watching her, with a sudden heat in his dark eyes as well.

"Let's go away," she whispered hoarsely. "Someplace, any place. We'll find someone to marry us and be together. I don't want to wait," the last words came out as a whimper.

His hands slid around her waist and pulled her close, lips coming down on hers to kiss her hungrily. She matched him, her hands sliding up his back, for the first time feeling him with just a thin shirt between her fingers and his warmth.

She felt the buttons of his trousers pressing into her, and greatly daring, moved one hand under his shirt and stroked his bare back and along his flank. His skin seemed soft, as her fingers flowed like water across the surface. He pulled back a bit from her mouth, murmuring her name as a protest, but he didn't move away so she kept her hand on him. She found his hip bone, unexpectedly hard and angular under her fingers as she traced it.

His breath hitched and his hands clenched on her shoulders. His eyes were staring into hers, but glassy, with all his attention on her hand down below. She smiled, well pleased with the effect she was having on him.

She slid her hand inward, between them, finding the curve of his belly and the hollow beneath, to where wiry hair started. His hips jerked and he bit his lip around a gasp.

Her fingers explored downward, brushing something unexpectedly soft before he stepped backward, seizing her hand to stop her. "No, you can't," he shook his head. But his face gave away the lie, as his eyes glittered and his fingers shook. This was the Will she remembered from when he had touched her, and she wanted to give him the same feeling he had given her then.

"But you want --" she objected

"I want you," he affirmed in a low voice, before quickly starting to do up his buttons. "Always. And I would love you to do that some more. But not here. If anyone catches us, your father will kill me. With cause."

Disappointed, she stepped back a more appropriate distance, knowing Will was right. Damn propriety. Once they were married, though, no one was going to prevent her from touching him wherever and whenever she wanted.

He didn't tell her to leave the room while he dressed, though, so she watched, rubbing her fingers together and remembering the feel of that softness. She was thankful for Estrella's chatter on the topic of men, otherwise she wouldn't have known what she was touching or that he would like it.

He winced as he put his coat on, reminding her that he was still injured, even though his bandages were now small and clean.

She frowned, realizing he must intend to go out if he was dressing fully. "Where are you going?"

"I'm going to give my thanks to your father for allowing me to stay here," he said and slipped into his recovered shoes, stomping his feet to settle them. "And then I'm going to find and take back my sword."

Her heart sank in her chest as she looked at him. He hadn't mentioned it for the last four days, and she had let it lie, not wanting to remind him. She should have known he hadn't forgotten.

His expression was set on grimly intent lines, chasing away the desire that had burned there so recently.

"You're still hurt!" she objected.

"I'm much better," he said. "I'm going to go back to the smithy, fetch some weapons and go find them."

"No, it's too dangerous! Will, these men already almost killed you! The sword is not worth your life."

He ignored her. His eyes narrowed, but not at her. "The surprise will all be on my side, this time. Don't worry, Elizabeth. They won't even see me coming until it's too late."

She stepped in his way as he started for the door, and put her hand on his chest. "Not alone," she said.

The words reached him and he frowned. "No --"

She interrupted, fiercely, "These men almost murdered you, because you were trying to defend me. Well, let me defend you. You taught me how to use a sword and a pistol. I'm not a useless maiden in a tower, I can help you. I can watch your back." She could see his determination to protect her waver slightly, and she smiled coaxingly, "We make a good team. Remember?"

She thought he wanted to agree, but propriety reared up its ugly head again and he shook his head once. "Elizabeth --" his hand cupped her cheek, thumb caressing by her ear. "Yes, we make a good team, and I believe you could help. But this isn't Isla de Muerta -- many people would recognize you. It's not just dangerous; your reputation would never recover."

"Reputation!" she blazed, backing out from under his touch. "This is your life, Will! Do you think I don't hold that higher than my **reputation** , which is, I remind you, quite tarnished already."

His eyes held hers for a long moment and he said, with a chill calm voice, "I'm going to find them. Please, Elizabeth, stay here. Stay out of this."

He bent and swiftly pressed a kiss to her lips, before hurrying out the door.

She watched him go, feeling irritated and worried, and yet proud as well. Will was dangerous, and people who saw only the handsome face were fools. Beneath the acquired education and manners, he had a pirate's passionate heart. Over the last few days, he had brooded and schemed over his missing sword and the blow to his pride, awaiting his chance for vengeance until he thought he was well enough to carry it out.

But she was less sure that he was ready. Besides, there was no reason to let him do this alone. She would be careful and heed his caution, but she would also do her best to make sure he came home alive.

Instead of following him downstairs to her father's study, she went the other way, to her room to start her own preparations.

===========

He let himself into the smithy. He checked on the forge and made sure the gold and silver were still locked up properly. Only then did he allow himself to wander to the weapons, shedding his coat on the work bench.

His usual work was not weaponry, but kitchen cutlery. But still, there was a selection of swords and knives, consisting mostly of Will's own journeyman work. These were the naked blades, without hilts, and two made him wince with shame just looking at them. He put them back. He didn't have time to re-make them, so he would have to take the best of the lot.

Making a basic leather-wrapped hilt took only a few minutes, and then he practiced with it across the floor, to get a sense of its balance and weight. It felt awkward at first, without the lightness in his hand of his own blade. Worse, he hadn't reckoned on the sharp twinge in his chest when he raised his arm or took a deep breath. If he wasn't careful, he was going to favor that side and leave himself open. But he wasn't intending to duel, so with luck, speed and surprise would be enough to overcome any resistance.

His last task was to sharpen the blade, and he spent some time doing that, checking the edge against the slanted afternoon sunlight, looking for imperfections.

He wiped the blade when he was done and slid it into its serviceable sheath at his side. He also put a knife sheath on his belt at his back with one of his best blades in there as a backup weapon. If he'd had a knife during the attack he would've made a better accounting of himself.

All afternoon he had tried not to think about anything beyond what he was doing at the moment. But as soon as the knife slid home, he let himself remember. He was going to hunt down the bastards who had attacked him, and he would take back his sword before they had a chance to sell it. And if they were stupid enough to get in his way, they would pay for it.

They were no doubt in hiding someplace, well aware that this situation wasn't going to keep the military's attention for very long, despite Governor's Swann's interest in the matter. Port Royal would have to open to trade again soon, and then they would be gone.

He went to his rooms to dress. Remembering how conspicuous he had felt visiting Tortuga with Jack, he changed into his most worn trousers, and a stained shirt and coat from the bottom of his wardrobe, both in need of a good pressing. The coat fit his younger, smaller self, pulling tight across the shoulders, and he deliberately ripped the seams to give himself room to fight. Regarding himself in the mirror, he smiled -- three days of not shaving had given him a newly scruffy look. Adding soot from the kitchen on his clothes helped, though he inwardly squirmed at making something deliberately filthy. Tying back his hair in a tight queue to keep it from his eyes, he jammed a cheap tricorn low on his head, grabbed a small purse of coins, and decided he was ready.

He had debated with himself the best way to do this -- quiet and subtle, or noisy and try to provoke the attackers into flight. But swaggering into a tavern and demanding the attackers turn themselves over to him sounded like something Jack would do. Will didn't have the same flair for drama, and would probably get himself laughed at.

He would have to do this his own way.

He went to the taverns on the docks first, where the lowest of the sailors drank: the scalawag crew of the pirates and privateers. He could hear the drunken roar from outside, and the smell of spilled rum and ale came out like a wave when he opened the door. The place was crowded already, since the port was closed.

He waited just inside the door for his eyes to adjust to the dim light from the hanging lanterns, before moving forward and sweeping his gaze across the men inside. He had told Governor Swann that he had only got a good look at one of the attackers, but that wasn't quite true. His memories of the fight weren't clear, but he would recognize the men if he saw them.

No one paid attention to him at first, content to continue their dice games and drink. One of the serving wenches sidled up to him. "Evening, guv," she greeted with a toothy grin, pushing herself against his arm. "What'll it be?"

He had a coin already in hand and held it up. "Rum. And a sword."

She tittered. "Why, guv, don't you have one of those already?" When she lowered her eyes, it wasn't at the sword at his side.

He gave her a very small twist of his lips. "A very special sword. I want to buy. Any sellers in here?"

She looked doubtful, with nowhere near Elizabeth's quick wit, but then pointed him at a table to the side where there were three men dicing. She snatched the coin from his fingers and put it between her breasts. Will pulled over a stood and joined the table. The three men looked up at him, frowning. None of them were his attackers, but with any luck they might know something.

"Game's full, boy," one of them grunted sourly.

Another one, with a full black beard, grew a smile on his face, eager to try to fleece him. "Let 'im play, Berger. Wants t'lose his money, who're we t'stop 'im?"

Will dropped another coin in the middle of the table. "My ante."

They let him join the game, and by the time the bar wench brought his drink he'd already lost two rounds. But losing the money wasn't important. The smoke was making his head pound and drinking the rum didn't help, as his stomach roiled in protest. He overturned his cup, spilling half the rum on the floor during the next round. He might have to hit more taverns tonight and didn't want to be drunk.

He shook the dice cup and dumped the dice on the table. Two fives and three sixes, a winner. The others groaned. He pegged the time right and didn't reach for his winnings. "I'm looking for a sword," he said. "A very good sword. I hear you might know about it."

Berger and the black-bearded one exchanged a look. They knew something. But Berger made the mistake of lying. "Nothin'."

The knife slid into his hand and slammed point first into the top of the wooden table before Will even had to think about it. All three of them stared at the knife, glittering as it quivered there. Will said slowly, "I'll ask again: where is the sword? And the men who took it?"

"They'll kill us," Berger muttered, but eyed the knife and the pile of coins.

"Not if they're dead first," Will said.

"You? All by yerself?" the third man demanded and laughed.

A steel blade flashed into view across the table and a voice said behind him, "Not alone."

At first the sight of the sword filled him with panic that someone had come up behind him so silently. But then his chest froze with horror and dismay at the voice. She had lowered her voice to sound gruff, but he knew it anyway. He didn't dare give away who she was, so he made himself sit still and stare at the other men at the table. He couldn't speak, clenching his jaw around the words to yell at her for being so stupid.

Very casually, he pulled his knife from the table and tapped it.

Berger broke first. "I heard, and that's all, I heard -- they're holed up in a cave under the headland."

"That's it?" Will asked, turning his glare on the other pair. "You? You know anything more?"

"Waiting for the port t'open," the third blurted. "Gonna sail off. Didn't know the Crown'd be involved."

Will smiled thinly. "They were wrong." He stood and put his knife away, nodding at the coins. "Keep it. Try not to be fools."

He finally turned to see Elizabeth. She was wearing men's clothes in plain brown and tan, and like him, had dirtied them up including a large wet stain that reeked of rum.

The sight shocked him right out of his anger. Not that she was in trousers -- he'd seen that before, since she often wore trousers when they practiced swords. All he could think about was the governor's daughter was standing there in the middle of a crowd of roughs. They had to get out of there. He gestured her to go first, so he could watch her back, worried that someone was going see through the flimsy disguise to the lady beneath. Or hell, in a crowd like this, a pretty boy might be in just as much danger.

But as they picked their way carefully to the door, no one stopped them. He didn't let out a sigh of relief until they were outside and a little ways distant. Then he turned on her.

"Are you mad?" he demanded. "Going in there?"

She lifted her chin, unrepentant. "I told you. Not alone, Will." She patted the hilt of her sword. "And if you tell me to go home, I'll just follow you again."

She would, too.

He shut his eyes and tried to calm down. She was afraid for him, and he understood that feeling all too well. He finally gave in to the wry smile her clothes deserved. Was there any other bride-to-be in the entire Empire who thought nothing of putting on men's clothes and bringing her sword to her fiancé's aid? He suspected not, which made him the luckiest man in the entire reach of the Crown. "You amaze me," he murmured, and the words made her grin. "I'd kiss you, but if word got to your father that I've been kissing beautiful boys by the docks, he'll have me hang."

"Then I'll just have to rescue you," she declared smugly, laughing. He couldn't resist brushing his fingers across her cheek.

His smile faded, looking at her. To his eyes, she was so obviously Elizabeth that he was still worried that someone might try something. "Let's get to High Street."

They left the dockside alley and onto the main road of the town, where it was safer with more people out. They headed eastward, toward the church and the governor's house. Past that, on the other side of town, they'd reach Gallows' Point and the headland where he hoped to find a cave. "I should never have made that for you," he muttered as they walked.

"Father commissioned it."

"Because you pouted at him until he gave in."

He darted a glance and their gaze met. She arched her brows at him, but still smiling, as she retorted, "You were the one to teach me how to use it, Mister Turner, I remind you."

"Because you pouted at me."

"You like it. Admit it."

He wasn't going to say so, but sparring with her over wooden swords, and watching her breasts heave and the way sweat made her bodice cling to her was certainly half the reason he had continued with the lessons.

His eyes strayed down the lines of her rumpled brown coat, which she must have borrowed off one of the servants, and her very visible legs all the way to her ankles. "I have to admit," he said slowly, teasing her, "there are worse things to look at."

In joking outrage, she thwacked him on the arm, accidentally hitting his wound. He hissed in a breath at the sudden pain.

"Oh, I'm so sorry! I forgot!" she blurted. "Here, take off your coat and let me --"

"It's fine," he said, pulling free of her hands when she wouldn't let go of his coat.

But she didn't keep walking, and frowned at him worriedly. "Will, now that we know where they're hiding, we should tell my father. He'll order the Navy in to take them prisoner."

"We don't know that they're there," he reminded her tightly and continued walking. "Besides, considering this is the same Navy that let me and Jack steal the _Interceptor_ , I'm not reassured. I won't let them get away. If you want to stay behind and go tell your father or Captain Argyle at the fort, do so -- in fact, I'd rather you did -- but I'm going."

He heard her whisper under her breath, like a curse, "Pirate!"

But she followed.

===========

Elizabeth fumed in Will's wake. She couldn't very well leave him to go alone, since that was why she had joined him in the first place.

They passed the church at the top of High Street, and her house was to the left, hidden behind its wall and the short driveway. She paused, still considering, and then followed Will determinedly.

He kept silent, but slowed his step so she could keep up.

The night was warm, but there was a cool sea breeze that kept trying to push tendrils of her hair in her face. The moon was just past full and bright enough to light the path, though she still wished she'd brought a lantern.

They passed the empty vegetable market, and houses that spread out and turning into native shacks half-hidden by the foliage. Then the houses ended all together, and the road became hard, packed dirt and sand that would lead over the high causeway to the main island.

Will slowed and finally stopped among the banana trees and palms that grew wild at the edge of the road.

"What is it?" she asked, standing near him with a hand on the hilt of her sword. She and Will seemed to be the only people awake on this side of town and it was a bit unnerving.

"The harbor side is too guarded," he said, gesturing to the north. "So I think the cave must be on the ocean side of the spit. But there's a lot of shoreline to search, and no guarantee that I can find it."

She thought about where they were and her eyes flew up to meet his, as an idea struck. It had been a long time ago, when they had still been children enough to play together, before their respective stations had put a gulf between them, and she had to play the lady while he started his work at the smithy. But she still remembered. "Will, we know a cave! Remember, that winter when there were so many storms, we found that cave? The hurricane blocked the entrance, but it must be open again. I told you it would be a perfect pirate hideout."

At first he frowned and looked confused, trying to remember what she was talking about, but then he smiled, suddenly excited again. "The cave. Of course. I'll check that one first. I hope the path is still open."

He turned and hurried into the underbrush, throwing back an impatient, "If you're coming, come!"

His hurry faded as they got closer to where she knew the shoreline had to be, even though all the shrubbery and trees were blocking the view of the water. He stopped suddenly, and threw an arm across her path to stop her.

"Hush," he whispered in her ear. "There may be a guard. I'll go look. Stay here."

He crept forward and all too quickly faded from her sight.

She waited, listening intently at the faint sounds of rustling through the leaves until even that tapered to silence.

A bug tried crawling up her leg and she flicked it away, not even looking at it, as she waited.

A loud grunt of someone being hit made her jump and her heart pounded in fright. There were a few more soft sounds of a very quiet fight, then nothing. She closed her eyes, gritting her teeth so she wouldn't call out for Will.

==========

One down, four to go.

Will looked down at the body. He had thought it would make him feel better, but it didn't.

He wiped his knife blade clean on the man's shirt and stood up. Knife killing in the dark was an assassin's work, and it made him feel dirty. The man had no chance, not really. He hadn't even had time to draw his own knife.

But another part of him, the angry part, demanded to know whether they'd given **him** a chance. He hadn't had time to draw his weapon either when they'd attacked him. They'd robbed him and left him for dead in the street.

He took the body by the ankles and dragged it out of the way, clenching his jaw around the stabbing pain in his ribs. He didn't want Elizabeth to see the body. He went back to find her.

"Come," he whispered, when he was close enough, "let's go."

She emerged from the shadows, her face very white by the moonlight, and her eyes searched him anxiously for signs of injury. Finding none, she took a deep breath and nodded.

She kept close behind him as he cautiously made his way to the head of the trail down to the cave, hoping it was more or less the same path as it had been years ago. The trees and high shrubs thinned out until finally they were standing on the edge of a cliff. It would have been almost as high as the cliff by Fort Charles where Elizabeth had fallen, but the land had crumbled away leaving tumbled rocks in a gentler slope all the way down.

Luckily the prints of several booted feet where they had trampled the flowering vines laying all around on the ground confirmed the path. Crouching down so they'd be not so easily seen in the bright moonlight, he approached the first boulder where the path started down.

It wasn't a very difficult path, and he only turned once to help Elizabeth jump down from a tall rock into the wet sand, to find her already at his side. She smiled at him pleased with herself.

He didn't smile back, vowing to himself that he would die before he let anything happen to her. She was here because of him, and he couldn't let her get hurt.

They continued along the shore, until she seized his arm. When he cocked his head back at her curiously, she pulled at him so he was leaning into her and pointed past the rock he'd been hiding behind.

There was a soft orange light coming from within a dark opening in the hillside. They were almost at the cave.

He leaned into her and murmured as softly as he could in her ear, knowing how sound could travel near the water, "Keep a lookout. I'm going to see who's inside."

She nodded, and kissed him lightly on the lips. "More later," she promised in a whisper, with an impish yet seductive look, "when this is over."

He took the feel of her lips with him as he very slowly and quietly drew his sword and started toward the cave mouth.

The moonlight, which had been his friend, suddenly betrayed him, as something which had looked like a small black rock and safe to walk on, turned out to be a hole. He tripped, silently cursing as he stumbled for balance, making enough noise to wake the whole damn regiment at Fort Charles.

He stopped, stock still, as soon as he could, to listen. They must have heard it.

"Bray?" a voice called out from the cave mouth. "Bray?"

Bray was probably the dead man up at the top of the hill. Will stayed motionless and waited to see what the thieves would do.

Someone else laughed, with a drunken edge, "Bray probably fell down drunk. Leave him."

The sound of that voice went through him like cold water in his veins. " _Leave him._ " He had said the exact same words, with his boot on Will's head to keep his face against the wet sand and filth of the alley.

"He's supposed to be on watch," the first man complained but his voice receded, as he went back in the cave.

But if the corpse was supposed to be on watch, that suggested everyone else was in the cave.

This was his best chance. Keeping to the side, out of immediate view of the entrance, he approached the cave. With one hand on the rocks to keep his balance, his other hand held his sword tucked down so it wouldn't catch the moonlight.

He inhaled a slow breath, trying to calm his anxiety and desire to run inside thrumming through him. He was going to catch them all completely by surprise.

Next to the entrance, he turned his head to peek around the last rock and inside. It looked the same as he remembered from when he and Elizabeth had explored the cave before -- there was a short, narrow passage that opened up into a larger cave, roughly circular and about fifteen feet across. There was a fire pit in the middle of the cave, which cast its light on two men sitting beside it.

Besides the men, Will could see something else different about the cave -- it had apparently been open for some time and had become a storehouse for stolen goods. There were small crates and boxes piled against the wall. Some of the boxes had been ripped open, and their contents - he saw pewter dishware, a clock, and a set of candlesticks -- strewn on top of the piles.

But one thing he thought had not changed about the cave: there was no other exit. These criminals were bottled up in this cave like a mouse in a trap, and all he had to do was shut it.

So, squaring his shoulders, he walked down the short passage, ducking his head to miss a narrow low-hanging rock. He didn't try to be silent, since there wasn't much point in that anymore.

The two men sitting by the fire looked up at the sound and saw him there, and he held up his substitute sword in threat.

"You have my sword," he announced. "I want it back."

One of them bugged out his eyes. "It's the guv. From back of the Tinker's Box!"

His friend laughed. "Come take it, boy."

His eyes darted to Will's left, signaling that someone else was there. Will spun out of the passageway, blade high to confront a third man. This one was as tall as he was, darker skinned than the others, and he had a chain wrapped around his fist with a length dangling loose like a flail.

The blade struck the chain, but Will pulled free before the chain could bind it, and ducked beneath the end of it.

Instead of moving farther away as the big man expected, Will slid in closer, forcing him to back up. His sword darted in toward his chest, but Will had to settle for drawing his blade across his thigh when the man twisted.

Will pressed him, not allowing him time to get his chain back into position to strike. His opponent gave him the warning -- his expression flickered with satisfaction -- Will whirled, sword rising to meet ... his own sword. In the hands of the fourth man.

"This what you want?" he sneered at Will over their crossed blades. "I'll kill you with it."

Will didn't speak, but a cold fury filled him and he attacked. Each strike was parried, but Will knew he was better. He just had to wait for a mistake. But he didn't have time to wait, not with three other men in the cave, and at least one of them was armed. The other two might be going for weapons already.

He disengaged from the man with his sword, and circled toward the men by the fire. One retreated back toward the crates, apparently unarmed, and the drunken man held a candlestick like a bludgeon. He came after Will all in a rush, and it was easy to turn and put his sword across the man's path from underneath. He fell like a sack of grain. Two down.

Trying to fix the body's location in his mind, so he wouldn't trip over it, Will faced the chain man and the sword holder, who were now coming at him close together.

He retreated a step to gain distance, eyes darting between them. They moved. Chain came first, swinging at his head, but if he put up his sword to block it, he'd leave himself open below, so he ducked instead, sword down in quarter guard to slam against the other sword. The chain hit his left shoulder and the end curled into his ribs. The shock and pain of the strike to his already injured rib engulfed him, suffocating his breath and numbing his hand so he nearly dropped the sword.

But he fought through the hurt and kicked chain-wielder in the gut, shoving him backward a few paces. This was no time for honor duels. He'd offered them that chance back in the Tinker's Box and they'd rejected it.

The swords crossed twice more, and then everything went wrong.

He feinted left and thrust right, and the man parried forcefully, driving Will's sword into the rock wall. The point caught when he tried to pull it back, and then his own sword hit it again.

The tip and last five inches broke off.

He swore, back-pedaling frantically out of reach.

The other man examined the blade in his own hand with a grin. "Nice sword. Think I'll keep it."

Will held up his broken sword defensively, gritting his teeth. "Over my dead body."

The third man in the back of the cave announced, "As you wish."

Will turned his head to see what the third man had.

A pistol. And he cocked it, aiming it straight at Will.

Will fingered his broken sword, knowing he'd have only one chance.

==========

A gunshot blasted through the silence.

"Will!" Elizabeth screamed and scrambled over the rocks toward the cave. The sounds of sword fighting hadn't turned her heart into a ball of lead but that sound of a gun did.

She ran into the cave, terrified of seeing Will's bloody body on the floor.

Her heart lurched into beating again when she saw him still on his feet on the right-hand side of the cave. At the back there was a man against the crates, with Will's sword through his throat. As she watched, he slowly collapsed to the floor, and his pistol fell to the ground, useless.

A quick glance showed her two enemies still on their feet, one with a sword and one with a chain, and Will had nothing.

"Will!" she called in warning, and he looked to her. She lifted up her sword and threw it. The hilt of the sword he'd made for her slammed into his palm, and he wrapped his fingers around it, leaping to the attack the man holding the sword.

The man with the chain started toward her, swinging it in threatening circles. She sneered at him in contempt. She had been a prisoner on a ship full of undead, skeletal pirates. Did he really think he was that frightening?

She stepped slowly toward the fire pit, glad she wasn't in a gown and didn't have to worry about her skirts catching fire. Dropping below the chain as it whirled where her head had been, she grabbed a thin log from the fire pit. The end she held was warm, but not on fire, unlike the other end.

She swung it like a sword, slamming it into his hand. He yelled, as the burning log showered sparks all over his arm and into his face.

Combat had carried Will behind him, the two swords still crashing together. But she suspected he'd maneuvered her direction on purpose when he suddenly swung around and struck the man with the chain, thrusting her sword between his ribs.

He screamed and stumbled to his knees before he collapsed.

That left one, and he realized he was out-matched. He ran for the cave mouth. She threw her burning log at his feet, and he tripped, falling flat to the ground.

Will was on top of him in an instant and with her sword in a two-handed grip, plunged it straight into his body. She had to look away, as the sound of the metal grinding against bone made her feel sick. And it was done.

All was silence except for the fire and the noise of Will's panting breaths. Everyone else was dead.

Will pulled her sword free and knelt to clean it on the dead man's clothes, and then recovered his own.

She watched him, a little afraid. He stood there, with a sword in each hand, and dead bodies all around. There was no expression in his face, no more feeling than a stone. He didn't move, except to breathe, staring blankly.

She realized this was a glimpse of the Will who might-have-been -- the Will who could have been if he hadn't escaped the _Black Pearl_ as a boy, and Barbossa had been the one to raise him as a pirate. A Will who didn't care about honor, and killed whoever got in his way.

The faint echo of "Take what you want, give nothing back" seemed to linger in her ears.

The swords suddenly dropped from his hands and clattered on the ground. His back bent, as his hands came up to cover his face.

"Will?" she ran over to him and put her hand on his back. He was trembling. He tried to jerk away from her, but she didn't let him, throwing her arms around him and pulling him to her.

"No, no, you shouldn't," he whispered in weak protest. "I murdered them..."

"Hush," she murmured. "No, you didn't. It's okay. It's over. It's all over, Will."

She knew it was going to be all right, when his arms wrapped her in a tight embrace and he buried his face in her neck.

When he seemed more at even keel, she kissed his cheek and pulled back slightly, coaxing his face up between her hands. He tried not to meet her eyes, but she wouldn't let him avoid her gaze. "William Turner, you are a good man," she told him and continued when he opened his mouth to object. "And I love you. Nothing will change that." She shook her head slightly, stopping another attempt to object, and she insisted, "Nothing."

After a moment, he nodded once, and his hands covered hers. "You always save me," he murmured.

"We save each other," she reminded him, and finally won a small smile from him.

He leaned forward, and she tilted up her face. Their lips joined, and she closed her eyes, rejoicing in the feel of him under her mouth and her hands. He was alive, and she was alive, and they were together.

When they parted, she smiled at him. "Now we just need a good story to tell my father and Captain Argyle."

"On the way home," he suggested. "Let's get out of here."

She scooped up their swords and offered back his. "Don't forget this."

At first he seemed reluctant but eventually took it and put it away without saying anything. Then he took her hand in his and they left the cave.

Before returning to civilization and propriety, they lingered on the beach, hand in hand, watching the moon set into the untamed, glimmering sea.

  
The End.


End file.
